


Bad Influences

by Theoroark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/F, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: The five times Sombra gets Widowmaker in trouble with their bosses, and the one time Widow gets Sombra in trouble instead.
Relationships: Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 23
Kudos: 56





	Bad Influences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vulpyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulpyne/gifts).



> A late birthday gift for the wonderful [Vulpine](https://twitter.com/iesbiansombra)\- I am so so sorry for the delay and really hope you like this 💜

When Widow meets Sombra, she doesn’t really remember trouble. She’s been with Talon for about a month and all she remembers is standing on the roof of a Paris high-rise covered in blood, Dr. O’Deorain’s sickly sweet smile, and hours upon hours of mission training. Not complying with those trainings feels foolish. She has so many unknowns, it would be absurd to abandon the little she knows. 

Until she walks into the practice range one day and sees a woman with short red hair fiddling with a pistol. She’s the only other person there, but Widow knows better than to think they’re alone. She’s been let out of O’Deorain’s laboratory to enter in marksmanship scores for the day. If Widow’s not back within a half hour, she’ll be punished, and she’ll be watched the entire time she’s out. The consequences have never been explained to Widow and as far as she knows, she’s never broken the rule. But she knows, and so she obeys. 

The woman with red hair doesn’t seem to feel any such time pressure. She’s partially taken apart the gun and is just fiddling with the pieces now as she watches Widow approach. People do this with Widow- stare when she enters a room, never saying a word to her. Just as immaculately as she had with her curfew, Widow’s learned that they don’t expect her to greet them. But something about the woman’s gaze is different. It’s less questioning, more of a question. 

Widow doesn’t have time for it. She picks up her rifle and walks to the range. But before she can lift up her gun, she hears, “I’m Sombra.”

Widow does nothing, says nothing. Sombra keeps talking anyway. “I’m the new hacker they hired. I don’t know how much they tell you. But it’s good to meet you.” She laughs a little. “I thought you were dead.”

Widow knows that everyone in Talon knows more about her than she knows about them, might even know more about her than she does about herself. But something about Sombra’s laugh, something about the memory of Sombra’s fingers dancing around the pistol cartridge, makes her turn and say, “And I thought you were a collective.”

Sombra blinks and Widow can’t imagine she’s any more surprised than Widow is herself. It’s not often she gets to know more than someone else. But Sombra’s back to smiling quickly. “Of course,” she says. “Overwatch must have had some interest in me, even back then.”

“I just read the newspaper,” Widow says. Sombra blinks again, and then she laughs. It’s a louder, more genuine noise this time. And Widow surprises herself again and smiles. She didn’t even know she could still do that. 

“Lacroix.” Widow jolts and turns around. Maximilien is standing at the very entrance of the range, not even a toe of his finely polished shoes crossing the threshold, as though being in a different room than the firearms protects him. He tilts his head down so that shadows fall across his face and approximate a glare.

“You are scheduled to leave the laboratory at this time only for weapons practice,” he says. “Not for fraternization.”

“When is her fraternization break?” Sombra asks.

Maximilien turns. She waves a hand at him, sending little lines of code spilling through the air as she does. Widow can’t read Omnic but whatever's in Sombra's hand, it makes Max step back. He directs a frosty, “Follow orders, Lacroix, and we will have no issues,” at Widow, and then he power-walks away.

“I have to get to work,” Widow tells Sombra, once his footfall has faded. 

“You don’t  _ have _ to.”

“I do,” Widow says. It doesn’t feel as much like a known as it used to. But Sombra leaves it at that, puts the last piece back in place in the pistol, and walks away. 

A few weeks later, they move Widow out of the lab. Put her in some furnished apartment on base. Give her a holovid and tell her to call O’Deorain if she needs anything. When Widow looks through the holovid, she finds she only has two contacts. O’Deorain, and Sombra. 

As soon as Widow’s finger hovers over Sombra’s name, a text from her pops up. 

>Want to meet in the range tomorrow morning?

>I’ll bring coffee. 

Widow texts back “yes” before she knows what she’s doing. 

-

In St. Petersburg, Widow watches Sombra smile after she reports her failure. Widow shifts her scope over to Reaper. From the hunch of his shoulders, she can tell he didn’t need to see Sombra’s face to gather his own suspicions.

Reaper is surrounded by the wreckage of mechs. The metal is twisted and smoking and tangled, so messy and ruined that Widow notices too late one of them heaving to its feet. She whips her rifle towards it but before she can pull the trigger, it flashes purple, seizes, and falls back down. Reaper doesn’t notice. Sombra says nothing over comms.

Two moments, a split second each. Widow flips back and forth between them as she makes her way down from the tall tower she had posted up on. Sombra blithely betraying them, Sombra saving them without expecting anything in return. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about it does. 

Widow knows that the smart thing to do would be to err on the side of caution. Remember Sombra’s capacity for betrayal, disregard her kindness. It would be what keeps Talon safest, keeps her safest. But she doesn’t want to. And that doesn’t make sense either.

Sombra appears from thin air right as Widow lands on the ground. Widow stumbles, nearly faceplanting, and Sombra grabs her arm without another word. “Christ,” Sombra says. Her teeth are chattering. “I’m so glad we’re done here.” She looks Widow over, her gaze lingering on Widow’s unzipped jumpsuit. “Aren’t you cold?”

Sombra lifts her gaze up, slowly, and her smile comes back. Widow might have suspected before, but now she knows. She should tell Sombra she never feels the cold.

Instead, Widow leans in and kisses her. Sombra kisses back instantly, like she never had any doubt. She’s so warm and she slides her hand in the dip in Widow’s back and when she pulls back she says, “You should come by my place for a drink, once we get back.”

“You’re late,” Reaper snaps when they arrive at the drop ship. Sombra shrugs. Widow mumbles an excuse about a security patrol.

Sombra sits next to her the whole flight back to Rome, and her warmth is impossible to ignore.

-

Sombra wears a pink gown to the casino. One with a plunging neckline. Widow’s gown is low-cut too but Sombra’s tits are far bigger than Widow’s, and so it hardly seems the same. It hardly seems fair. Widow’s vaguely aware that Akande is praising her work, and it’s all she can do to nod along and pretend she’s staring towards the bar for security purposes. 

Widow sees Sombra say, “Ask her about St. Petersburg.” Akande must see Widow narrow her eyes and take a step towards Sombra, because he sets a warning hand on Widow’s wrist. Widow quickly whips back around and keeps her eyes forward, but she can still see Akande raising his eyebrow. 

“Spare me the commentary,” he says, his side-eye enough to tell Widow the warning isn’t for Sombra alone. 

If it weren’t for her disrupted circulation, Widow is positive her cheeks would be burning as she sits down at Maximilien’s table. She tries to steel herself but the glimpse she got of Sombra’s smirk is burned into her mind. Among other things.

Sombra may have gotten her in trouble now, but Widow will make her pay later. 

-

When Sombra doesn’t show up in Widow’s sniper nest, Widow’s concerned. It’s grown to be a habit with the two of them. Sombra slips Widow her translocator at the start of a mission. Sombra gathers her intel, Widow lands her shot. Sombra translocates up to her, they make out until evac calls for them. It’s become as much a part of a mission for Widow as putting on her armor or drinking afterwards.

Widow’s reaching for her holovid when a text from Sombra blinks on it.

>Meet me at the corner of 14th and Broadway.

Widow frowns, but doesn’t want to waste any more time. Evac will be coming soon, and if they still have work to do, she’ll need to hurry. She grapples from rooftop to rooftop, scanning city streets for any sign of a fleeing target or approaching enemies.

She sees none of that. Instead, she sees Sombra practically bouncing on her heels in front of an upscale coffee shop. Widow drops down from the roof, ignoring the stares of pedestrians. Sombra lets out a long sigh.

“Finally,” Sombra says. “Come on. Let’s go.” And she walks into the store. Widow walks after her, with no idea what they’re doing.

“Did the mark stash something here?” Widow asks in a low voice. Sombra turns to her, frowning.

“What? No. They just make hella good espresso here.” Widow is suddenly aware that Sombra’s led them to the end of a long line, filled with white people with undercuts and geometric tattoos. “I’ve been reading about this place for forever, and now I finally get to try it.”

“You brought me here,” Widow says slowly. “For coffee.”

“Really good coffee,” Sombra corrects. “And you’re bougie, right? You’ll love this shit.”

Widow snorts. “I’m happy to try anything. As long as it’s not that weasel shit coffee.” 

Sombra frowns. “You mean civet coffee?”

“Yes, that. The one where the weasel eats the beans, and they sell the shitted-out beans to rich imbeciles.” Widow waits, patiently, for Sombra to crack a smile. Making fun of rich imbeciles seems like one of Sombra’s favorite pastimes, and it’s rare for Widow not to be on the receiving end. But Sombra stays silent, her gaze suddenly fixed on the overhead menu. Widow’s eyes widen.

“Wait. You don’t like it, do you?”

“It’s good,” Sombra says. “And it’s fun to be adventurous with this stuff.”

Widow stares at her, a smile slowly curling on her lips. “Seriously?”

“Do you eat foie gras?”

“You are making assumptions of me based on national stereotypes, and I do not appreciate it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Widow looks away. “See? What’s the difference between a violently force fed goose liver, and a civet digesting coffee cherries?”

“Because one’s rat shit,” Widow says.

“It’s a civet. I let weasel slide, but let’s not stray too far taxonomically.” 

“Because one’s skunk shit,” Widow says. Sombra opens her mouth, then makes a face. 

“Well, we’re not in Indonesia,” Sombra says tartly. “So don’t worry about it.”

Widow smiles. They shuffle to the counter and Sombra immediately barges into an espresso order, before Widow can tease her more. When she’s done she turns to Widow, who quickly realizes she spent the entire, long wait thinking about Sombra, and not her upcoming choice.

“I’ll have what she had,” Widow says.

“Do you like dark coffee?” Widow makes a face. Sombra turns back to the barista. “Can you make her a latte?”

“I can handle dark coffee,” Widow grumbles.

“I’m sure you can,” Sombra says. “But this way, I can steal some of yours too.”

They’re being pushed off to the side by an oncoming pair of hipsters. Sombra brushes up against Widow. Widow leans down and kisses her cheek, arresting Sombra’s progress and causing a pile-up behind them. The dazed little smile on Sombra’s face is all worth it.

They sit on the back patio, Sombra growing slightly manic after she downs her shot. They talk– Sombra mostly, because of her caffeinated energy and because Widow gets lost in listening to her. Widow doesn’t notice the dozen missed messages from evac until a helicopter is hovering directly over the patio, sending napkins and pastries flying. 

“Shit.” Sombra manages to look actually guilty for once. But that passes quickly when she smiles at Widow and says, “Good first date though, right?”

Command chews Widow out as soon as they get back to base. They don’t talk to Sombra, either because they know they can’t reach her, or because they’re scared. Widow doesn’t remember a thing they say, though. All she can think about is Sombra saying, “first date.”

-

“Get back into position, Lacroix.”

Widow ignores O’Deorain’s voice. She’s grappling through a Helix facility one-handed, the other hand gripping Sombra’s translocator so tight she’s half afraid she’ll break it. Widow had made her shot, the translocator had flashed, then it had crackled and fizzled and gone dark. Widow doesn’t know what that means. But she knows she has to find Sombra.

O’Deorain’s still talking, so Widow shuts down her comms. As she nears the security hub at the center of the complex, she switches on her visor. Sombra’s heat signature is unique– a bit warmer than everyone else, with her cybernetics working hard to keep her powerful and alive. Widow spots her, so Sombra’s still alive. She’s huddled up somewhere, knees pulled up to her chest, so she must be hiding.

Widow walks into the hub. Shoots the surprised guards without scoping in. Makes her way to the warm shape. Sombra lets her hand fall from her mouth, lets herself breath heavily again. Sombra keeps her other hand firmly grasping her leg, though. It’s where the bullet’s gone in.

“You turn off your comms?” Sombra asks. Widow nods. “Good. Moira’s fucking unbearable.”

Widow manages a smile. It lasts until she has to pick Sombra up, and Sombra lets out a little gasp of pain. Sombra closes her eyes and burrows her head into Widow’s chest. She’s heavy, all geared up like this, but Widow carries her back to the ship and a fuming O’Deorain.

The doctor doesn’t shut up the whole flight back. But she removes the bullet and stitches up Sombra’s leg. Widow can deal with listening to O’Deorain bitch for hours on end, if it means she doesn’t have to hear Sombra’s shaky, pained whimper ever again.

-

O’Deorain tries to take Sombra back to her laboratory. For further healing, she says. Widow looks down at her blue skin and her slow heart rate spikes. O’Deorain complains some more, but Sombra comes back with Widow to the Chateau.

“I’m fine,” Sombra tells Widow. “Really. I built my body, I can handle it just fine.” Widow nods and practically shoves Sombra back down every time she makes the slightest move to leave bed. She brings her tea (“I want coffee.” “Too bad.”), soup, and painkillers. Eventually, Sombra gives up and goes to sleep. It’s the first time Widow thinks Sombra’s ever gone to sleep before her– usually Sombra’s an insomniac, only able to fall unconscious mid-work or mid-video game. But when Widow wakes up the next morning, Sombra’s still sleeping beside her.

Widow goes down to the kitchen and makes coffee but when she comes back to the bedroom with two cups, Sombra’s still asleep. As Widow’s settling down in bed next to her, careful to disturb the blankets and pillows as little as possible, Sombra’s holovid buzzes on the nightstand. Widow glances over, spots her name, and picks it up. A message from Reaper is displayed on the screen.

>I know you’re still at Widowmaker’s, but we need to do damage control. I’m sending you the files you were able to gather. Decrypt them and get them back to me asap.

Widow chews her lip. She looks between the battered and exhausted Sombra and the terse message. After a few drafts, she’s written out a message completely in Sombra’s voice, that will get her utterly off the hook.

>Hey Gabe! Still not feeling 100% so I can’t rn. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out though! Later!

Within seconds, Widow is texted back a single word.

>What.

Widow flings the holovid to the end of the bed, as though it’ll manifest a proper response once it’s out of sight. She looks down at Sombra– sprawled out across the bed in panties and a tank top, drool flattening her hair to her cheek. Widow doesn’t think she’s ever seen Sombra stay still for this long, much less stay asleep. She brushes the hair off Sombra’s face and smiles. 

When Sombra wakes up, well-rested for once in her life, she’s going to have a very angry Reaper on the phone. But after everything Sombra’s done to her, Widow thinks she deserves this. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m [@tacticalgrandma](https://twitter.com/tacticalgrandma) on twitter if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos would mean the world to me 💜


End file.
